


Atonement

by Stairre



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Fix-It, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Mentioned War Crimes, Mentioned War Profiteering, Ongoing Redemption, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25, There are no good guys in war, Trials, Trying to rebuild after a four million year war in which everyone is guilty is not easy, restorative justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25249054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stairre/pseuds/Stairre
Summary: Justice comes in many forms, as does redemption. Rodimus Prime appeals to the Galactic Council on the behalf of both Megatron and the still-fragile peace of Cybertron.---Or: in which theLost Lightdoesnotget decommissioned, Rodimus makes a spark-felt speech, restorative justice versus punitive justice gets argued, and exactly nobody wants to know what sort of skeletons are in Prowl's closet.
Comments: 31
Kudos: 81





	Atonement

**  
Atonement  
**   
  


–  
  
  


It’s on the way out of the _Lost Light,_ fresh from its last victory lap, that the thought occurs to Rodimus.  
  


Perhaps, it’s less _occurs_ than _hits him with the force of a combiner_ , but still. The thought is had. And not a moment too soon.  
  


Prowl emerges to take Megatron away, and to once again exert his will upon the world by decommissioning Rodimus’ ship. Yeah, that’s right. _Rodimus’ ship.  
  
_

Primus, why is this guy back in power? Wasn’t he arrested not that long ago? Isn’t everyone aware – whether it’s spoken of or not – that Prowl is as guilty of war crimes as literally _any fragger you could point out on the street?  
  
_

“No,” Rodimus tells Prowl. It feels _so good_ to say.  
  


Prowl pauses. “No?” he says softly, like a warning, like a threat.  
  


“The _Lost Light_ is mine,” Rodimus says. “Drift bought it, then gifted it to _me_. It’s private property, not Autobot property. I have the paperwork to prove it. You have no legal standing to decommission it.” Prowl – and Optimus Prime, when he was still alive – has yanked Rodimus around enough, and maybe he can’t change what happened in the past _now_ , but he can certainly stop him from continuing the pattern.  
  


Prowl’s face is blank. Always blank, this guy. “The quantum generators are needed to increase our energon reserves and help bring the new sparks on Luna-1 online,” he says, like Rodimus doesn’t know that already.  
  


“The _Lost Light_ needs those quantum generators for what I’ve got planned,” Rodimus tells him, “and there are plenty of other options available to you. I’m not unsympathetic, believe me, I’m not, but literally every crew member here could tell you that they’re somewhat unstable. And new sparks will be coming out of that hot spot for centuries; you’ve gotta invest in some long term energon reactors, Prowl, not a quick and dirty solution like repurposing the _Lost Light’s_ quantum generators.”  
  


Prowl narrows his optics, adjusting his hold on Megatron’s stasis-cuffs. Megatron himself is silent, watching Rodimus carefully. “The quantum generators are the most powerful on New Cybertron,” he says.  
  


Rodimus barely restrains the urge to roll his optics. “The Functionist Council literally remade this planet into a working effigy of Primus,” he says, doubtfully, “they must have some pretty high-performance generators _somewhere_. How much fuel would it take to run a literal planet-sized mech? Go on, run those calculations. Then tell me if the _Lost Light’s_ quantum generators are your best solution.”  
  


Prowl actually nods his head after a moment on that one. Rodimus restrains the urge to puff up with a little bit of pride at making Prowl acquiesce to a point; inflexibility is _not_ something to be proud of. “I accept your logic,” he says. “Now, I must be on my way. The Galactic Council is waiting.” He turns to leave, tugging Megatron.  
  


“Yeah,” Rodimus says. “About that.”  
  
  


–  
  
  


The Galactic Council stare down at Rodimus, who doesn’t need to take a deep breath before he starts his speech, but does so anyway. His spark spins fast inside its chamber. He is alone on the central podium in the middle of the floor, and the walls are filled with mecha he knows, and more that he doesn’t.  
  


“Honoured Councillors,” he begins. “I come to speak to you today regarding the trial of Megatron of Tarn, whom is charged by this body of war crimes too numerous to count, and who has been turned over to it for judgement instead of facing Cybertronian justice.” _As a political gesture_ , is implied, but not said.  
  


“Back and forth have the accounts gone, and many years of evidence files are but a touch away at your monitors. For years now, everyone has known that either lifelong imprisonment with no chance of release or parole or execution have been the choices ahead. Today, I must offer up a third option, in the interest of restorative justice.” Rodimus watches as the gazes of many sharpen around the room.  
  


“To execute Megatron, who started out as a social rights activist and revolutionary, and still holds immense sway amongst both his old Decepticon followers and his new resistance movement members, is to invite martyrdom and riots. To the people of New Cybertron, he is a folk hero, to those of Old Cybertron, little different in many circles. To incite further violence upon this planet – and those that surround it – when it has already seen so much is the one massive risk of taking the execution route…”  
  


Rodimus watches as grimaces and nods ripple around the room.   
  


“As to imprisonment, many will cry out that there is little reparative justice happening. So much pain and death has occurred, but simply stopping it won’t be enough for many. And, of course, the logistics of holding a prisoner with such a following are immense. Many would seek to break him out for either their own ends or because they think that is what he would want, placing all who guard him into danger, and then the simple difficulties of housing a member of a species so immensely long-lived compared to the galactic average. Oh, and that threat of martyrdom hasn’t gone away in this scenario either.”  
  


More nods, more grimaces. Then again, this has been the trial of a lifetime for most of these councillors. These arguments have likely all been bandied about numerous times while Rodimus has been away adventuring across the cosmos.  
  


Rodimus leans forward, carefully meeting the eyes of all the assembled councillors. “So I move to propose this third solution, and I ask for some time to explain and expand before I get shouted down; community service on a galactic level, aboard the vessel the _Lost Light_ – ”  
  


“What?” one of the councillors exclaims. “You cannot seriously suggest that _community service_ would make up for the enormity of Megatron’s crimes?!”  
  


“The _Lost Light_ is being repurposed into a galactic outreach ship,” Rodimus says. “It will be fitted with medical equipment suitable for many of the universe's races, and will be responding as an on-call rescue vessel for the Galactic Council. Search and rescue, disaster relief, peacekeeping, aid of any kind, evacuation ship, _anything_. It is part of Cybertron’s renewed commitment to galactic affairs, and it is _exactly_ where Megatron is needed.”  
  


Rodimus holds up a hand as another goes to interrupt him. In his peripherals, he can see mecha shifting and murmuring along the walls.  
  


“I know, this doesn’t feel like closing the chapter on Megatron,” he says softly, voice carrying through the room, “and you are right to be wary. He has committed crimes previously unknown, to many more races than just Cybertronians. But the reignition of our devastating war is almost inevitable should execution go ahead – like it or not, and believe me, many _don’t_ – Megatron is pretty much the most famous Cybertronian in history. For all the wrong reasons, yes, but he is not alone in that…”  
  


Rodimus swallows, continues. “Before the whole – New Cybertron versus Old Cybertron thing had to be defined,” he says, “there were exactly 56,438 Cybertronians left by our last census. That’s around 0.02% of our pre-war population. We were never a large race, especially when compared to the species who number in the billions, but one cannot deny that those are some _devastating_ statistics.”  
  


Rodimus drags in a deep vent of air, lets it circle. Even though he’s known those numbers for quite some time, they still hit hard.   
  


“And Megatron is not the only one to blame,” he says, flatly, factually. “Takes two sides to make a war, and one of the huge things that I, personally, cannot forget, is how much we’re _all guilty._ Ostensibly, I’m on the winning side. I should just keep my head down. But the Autobots committed no less war crimes, dealt out any less death, than the Decepticons did. On and on, for years now, I’ve looked around and thought, _there is no justice here._ How do we move on, when we’re so eager to pin all our sins on one mech, one side, and pretend that we’re morally pure?” As far as Rodimus can see, there’s no one like that anymore.  
  


“Indeed, there is no denying Megatron’s guilt. I would never. But my people, my planet, we will never truly be able to move on until we’ve found a compromise. When this was still going through the Cybertronian justice system, the one massive problem we faced can be pretty much summed up as _no one has the moral high ground._ Any crime we accused the other side of was also committed by us. Four million years of war left no one innocent, and our peace nearly failed us time and time again until we learnt to accept that we all had to meet in the middle.”  
  


Rodimus meets all of the councillors’ eyes again. “So where do we go from here? Punishment has proven time and again that it causes more harm than good for our future, for there are none who do not deserve punishment, but justice must be done. _Reparation_ must be made. Not just to those of Cybertron, but to all others who have been caught in our conflict.”  
  


Rodimus pauses a moment, for his next words are perhaps the most potentially inciting of his entire speech, but – they must be said. “I do not begrudge the galactic community their desire for justice, for great harm has been overspilled onto them. But throughout the course of our war, the galactic community has not been innocent either. A great many inter-galactic companies have been found guilty by Cybertronian courts of war-mongering in efforts to incite more opportunities for their war-profiteering off of my people’s suffering – ”  
  


“Now, wait just a moment!” a councillor bursts out. “Such accusations – ”  
  


“Are entirely true, Councillor Den’aar,” another councillor interrupts. “Continue, Rodimus Prime of Nyon.”  
  


“War-profiteering off of my people’s suffering,” Rodimus repeats, “and many hate-crimes besides, committed against both the armies fighting and the neutral refugees who fled across the universe, seeking lives elsewhere. Many would say that we brought such treatment upon ourselves, but discrimination is not meant to be upheld in a court of the law, and I would hope that it will not be so now.” A couple of meaningful glances cause some councillors to look away.  
  


“The Galactic Council has not hesitated before to employ convicted Cybertronian war criminals,” Rodimus goes on, pointedly, fragging _Overlord_ lingering in his memory files, “so if it benefits all, it should be open to the possibility once again now. And I’m certain, after thinking it through long and hard, that this _is_ the only viable long-term sentence that can be given.”  
  


Rodimus’ spark spins – somehow – even faster as he concludes his speech. “Execution will reignite the violence for certain, imprisonment not far behind on the chances, with additional risk factors involving radicals both for or against Megatron. Cybertron’s peace will not last unless the third solution – that of making Megatron work to _atone_ for his deeds, to engage in reparation over punishment – is chosen. Cybertron itself has remanded his case unto yourselves, Honoured Councillors. We await your verdict.”  
  


Rodimus steps down from the podium.   
  


One beat of silence, two, then – anarchy.   
  
  


–  
  
  


Prowl pulls Rodimus aside when the Galactic Council adjourns for a brief recess.  
  


“ _This_ is your plan?” he hisses.  
  


“Prowl,” Rodimus says, “look me directly in the optic and tell me that anything I said in there was a lie.”  
  


Prowl tightens his jaw.  
  


“See?” Rodimus says. “You can’t. We’re all guilty. You. Me. Every fragger who ever served in either army. A whole bunch of the Galactic Council, too. How many times has our peace nearly failed because we kept on committing more quiet atrocities? Remember the control chips implanted into the Decepticons’ heads? How many laws did _those_ shatter? And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”  
  


Prowl sighs. “I want our peace to last,” he says, which is probably the most truthful thing he’s ever said to Rodimus.  


“Then stop treating it like another battlefield,” Rodimus tells him simply. “It’s not _us versus them_ anymore. We all have to work _together_ or we’ll never make it. Stop trying to beat them down and instead try to get them to ally with us. If Megatron goes to prison – hell, if only _Decepticons_ ever go to prison, then we’ll not be just hypocrites, we’ll be endangering the future peace by encouraging discrimination against those who chose that side. They weren’t – at the start of the war. They weren’t _wrong_ , Prowl.”  
  


Prowl grimaces.  
  


“They _weren’t_ ,” Rodimus repeats. “Megatron lost his way. Even _he’ll_ say he did. But look _around_ , Prowl. Even if he deserves death, or imprisonment, it’s just not _viable_. We can’t do that _and_ maintain the peace. New Cybertron’s _full_ of mecha who would make him out to be a martyr in a spark-pulse, and _they wouldn’t even be wrong_. And that’s not even getting into all the things we did that we should be executed for.”  
  


Prowl’s gaze goes hazy for a moment, just long enough for Rodimus to catch it and no more, before his face falls back into a blank mask. Rodimus doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to know what demons keep Prowl up at night.  
  


“You have… a point,” Prowl admits. “On Earth, Soundwave…”  
  


“Yeah, I heard about that,” Rodimus nods. “Seems like he has the right idea. Kinda want to go down and see for myself, but I’ve been busy. Still, interesting that the _third in command_ of the entire Decepticon army didn’t end up arrested for war crimes.”  
  


Prowl huffs. “And Starscream ended up Supreme Ruler of Cybertron for a while there,” he says. “I take your point. Singling out Megatron when we’re all guilty has not done us any favours in negotiating our peace.”  
  


“They should have both been at the table,” Rodimus voices a long-held thought. “Both Megatron and Optimus. Then maybe with them both being forced to work together so much of this slag could have been avoided.”  
  


Prowl sighs again, but does not dispute this, which is basically as good as agreement. “Do you think it will work?”  
  


Rodimus tilts his head. “Which part?”  
  


“Community service making Megatron a better person,” Prowl says, placing a derisive emphasis on the words _community service.  
  
_

“Megatron’s already a better person than he was the last you saw him,” Rodimus says, “and he wants to do better. I won’t say he’s not made mistakes during his time on the _Lost Light_. I won’t say he hasn’t acted fragging _awful_ at times. But he’s trying. And he’s _succeeding_. He spent over eight-hundred years in that Functionist Universe fighting for freedom and doing it _right_. Megatron’s redemption arc is his own, though, only _he_ can make himself a better person. What he needs is the _opportunity.”  
  
_

Prowl nods slowly. “I cannot say that he has been a difficult prisoner,” he admits. “I was suspicious, but he has not made trouble.”  
  


“Let’s just hope this works out,” Rodimus sighs. “We’re just – well beyond punitive justice feeling anything _like_ justice. It just feels like more death, more suffering. How do you run a court when the judge, the jury, and the lawyers are all as guilty as the defendant? It feels like a _mockery._ I get that there’s no easy solution, but Primus does it grate when you think on it too hard.”  
  


Prowl does not get the chance to answer, for in that moment they are called back in.  
  
  


–  
  
  


“Megatron of Tarn,” states the councillor, reading off a screen to the lone mech in the middle of the floor, his stasis cuffs chained to the podium, “long has this court debated your sentence, and today it is delivered.”  
  


Megatron bows his head.  
  


“For four million years, you have wrought violence and death upon the universe, not only upon your own species but many others besides. You have murdered, tortured, and raided your way across multiple galaxies. Your crimes are too numerous to be summarised in more detail than that.” The councillor takes a breath, exhales, their antennae bobbing in what is likely an indication of repressed emotion.  
  


“A plea was made for you, by Rodimus Prime of Nyon,” the councillor says. Megatron looks up in surprise. “He called for restorative justice, rather than punitive justice. He called for the preservation of Cybertron’s peace. He called for reparations made, instead of vengeance delivered.”  
  


Megatron glances to the right, where he’d spotted a glimpse of bright red plating earlier. He hadn’t had the spark to look at it then. Rodimus stands to the side, arms crossed, optics bright and focused on the speaker.  
  


“And so, we, the Galactic Council, in conjunction with Cybertron’s government, now pass this down as your sentence: for four million years did you wreak disaster, so for _eight_ million years you will be its relief. You are to be assigned to the outreach ship the _Lost Light_ as one of its crew, to aid it in its relief work the universe over. You will hold no officer authority, but will be treated no differently from any other crew member.”  
  


Megatron watches as Rodimus’ shoulders relax, his audios thrumming. It’s not – he can hardly believe it. How did Rodimus swing _this?  
  
_

“Some worlds have chosen to bar you from setting foot on their surface, and this will be respected,” the speaker goes on. “A list will be sent to both you and the captain of the _Lost Light_ , and you are expected to keep yourself updated on any changes to its contents. Cybertron itself is on this list, but has informed the Council that it will review that decision after two million years.”  
  


 _Not quite exile, then,_ Megatron thinks. _Not that I would deserve any less if they so chose.  
  
_

“You are not to be allowed possession of lethal weaponry,” the speaker continues. “Should any incidents occur in the course of your work, you will be subject to the same review as any other Galactic Council peacekeeper. You are also to be assigned a mandated psychologist as soon as one qualified can be found.”  
  


 _R---,_ Megatron thinks, then wonders where the thought came from, what it means. It’s like the toll of a distant bell, rung too far away to truly hear.  
  


The speaker lifts their head from the screen and looks Megatron directly in the optic, braver than most Cybertronians. “These are the terms of your sentence. After eight million years of reparations, you will go free, subject only to any ongoing sentences decided by your own planetary government. This sentence cannot be reduced. That is all. Adjourned.”  
  


The room roars.  
  
  


–  
  
  


Megatron looks out upon the crowd busying itself around the _Lost Light._   
  


Storage crates are being carried into the hold, supervisors with their faces glued to data-pads as they gesture and call out to those scurrying around, the jostling hurry of a ship mere hours away from launching.  
  


He looks up at the sky. He never thought he’d see the sun again, let alone stand outside in it, free of either death or a cell.  
  


“How’s it looking?” Rodimus asks, coming up behind him.  
  


Megatron turns his head. “Busy, captain,” he says. “Kickspin had to place an order for more nitrogen tanks – the Kimin breathe it and our first assignment has a note that there’s a large diaspora of them living in the colony. We’ll have to pick it up from Yuke-4 on our way past.”  
  


“Good to see you’re on top of things,” Rodimus says. “I’ve got so many briefing packets I’ll still be reading them by the time we’re done. Man, I think my respect for the captains of the Galactic Council outreach fleets just went way up. They’ve got to know _a lot.”  
  
_

“Better you than me, _captain,”_ Megatron says.  
  


“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Rodimus groans. “Ugh. You seen Drift anywhere?”  
  


“Helping Ratchet unload the crates for the med-bay’s storage,” Megatron says. “How’d you convince them to come, anyway? I thought they were opening up a clinic.”  
  


“That was their initial plan, yeah,” Rodimus shrugs. “But then I went and did this whole thing, and Drift and Ratchet pretty much just showed up in my living room and invited themselves on to the crew the next day. You weren’t even fully released yet. I think the whole medical aid thing appealed to Ratchet, and Drift’s always ready for more redemption opportunities – uh – um –”  
  


Megatron laughs. “I can share my redemption opportunities,” he says. “The more the merrier. Besides… Drift and I still have some things to talk about…”  
  


Rodimus nods, going quiet. “We do, too.”  
  


“I know,” Megatron replies, equally quiet. “Primus knows I’ve got a lot of reparations and apologies to make. I just – thank you, Rodimus. For giving me the possibility of making them.”  
  


“Justice comes in many forms, I suppose,” Rodimus replies, gazing out to the bustle of the _Lost Light._ “The whole idea is that something is _made_ from it, though, not taken away.”  
  


“To peace,” Megatron says.  
  


“To peace,” Rodimus agrees.  
  


  


**Author's Note:**

> Salty Author is Salty, and also still annoyed about IDW facing the _no good guys in war_ thing in some issues and totally dropping the ball in others.
> 
> I can also be found on [tumblr.](https://stairre.tumblr.com/) Come and say hello!


End file.
